


It's Complicated

by Deuterosis



Category: World Trigger (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Childhood Sexual Abuse, Dysphoria, F/M, Grooming, Heartbreaking, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Incest, Sibling Incest, Victim in denial
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-10
Updated: 2021-01-10
Packaged: 2021-03-13 20:28:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28659504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deuterosis/pseuds/Deuterosis
Summary: Concept: What if it's not really a bad thing that Miwa's sister died?
Relationships: Miwa Shuuji/Miwa Shuuji's Sister
Kudos: 4
Collections: Banned Together Bingo 2020





	It's Complicated

**Author's Note:**

> There are lots of directions I could have gone with “Corrupts Youth”, but I used a thought that's been hanging in my mind for a while. As fellow WT fans may already know, Miwa is, canonically in extra material, described as a “siscon”. My understanding of the “-con” family of descriptors is they imply a sexual relationship or at least interest; at “best”, a comparable level of the possessiveness many assume it does or “should” entail.
> 
> Always the word is accompanied by “serious” in this extra material, which apparently refers to the fact this sister obsession isn't played in a humorous way? Maybe it means the complex isn't sexually-oriented at all. At face value, it has disturbing implications. This is where this story comes in.

If he likened himself to an object, Shuji Miwa was a balloon that had slipped from a child's hand, his heart railed on a doomed march into eternity, never to return. His very life was a problem.

Among all the people he's known there's but one he _cherished_ \- even the second most-vital pulse of his life could only be half as important in his ranking. Such that when he was younger, seven or eight, he once said "I'm going to marry Onee-chan" in response to a long-forgotten question.

Adults were puzzled, but indulged his young declarations, the way adults may do. They never pointed out "You can't marry your sister." They never brought to his attention the sheer lack of (obvious) consanguinous relationships around him and prompt him to figure out the clue. He had no hint of the painful truth no one had bothered to tell him.

Then -- since he _hadn't_ grown out of it as the adults had expected -- when he finally did hear that truth it came as a bitter disappointment.

Yet, as one which couldn't deter his enthusiasm for his sister one ounce. He was happy to clutch her hand and lean against her in public even though people thought he was getting big for it, wounded when one day she acted embarrassed of his affection. She pulled him aside once and whispered, as if telling a secret:

"Shuji, you _can't_ tell anyone about our love. Or make it so obvious. They'll misunderstand it."

"But I don't care if the whole world doesn't understand. I love you!"

He still recalls how she stroked his head the way she always did, but with a different, bitter air. "Yes, but: If they find out, they'll try to separate us."

At that time, the mere idea they could be separated by any means was the idlest of threats. He didn't think it possible.

* * *

To him, their kind of love was the natural outgrowth of something normal. A child's typical attachment to a loved older family member which so happened to grow into a greater bond. Somehow he already knew, as they grew together and he beamed up at the life-giving sun of her face, he wanted nothing else but to spend the rest of his life at her side.

They graduated to something more distinctly "golden" and adult at a time the same grown-ups who'd disapprove of them either way would all find much too young: when he was eleven going on twelve.

He was long used to creeping into her bed whenever he felt like it, for comfort, warmth, or just to bask in her scent. His sister's bed represented a basin of happiness when filled with her presence, and he still often secretly snuck in her room to burrow under her sheets and nest in the crook of her arm. Physically, he'd bonded with her the way some might bond with a security blanket or a particular stuffed toy; it was starting to become something of a need.

As usual, she'd gladly received his little presence. She smelled wonderful that night; her skin felt so soft; it was too warm for pajamas really, so they both had gone to bed in the bare minimum of top-and-bottom underwear. Innocently he curled around her like a constrictor, locking his limbs around her, that they might be even closer. Her body like the reflective furnace of a huge teddy bear.

As usual, he simply fell asleep; he had his normal dreams - but whatever adventure film had played out in his head that night was lost forever when he was woken unnaturally.

"Shuji?"

His mind snapped awake at the soft call of her voice, giving her full attention. He followed her eyes to the same place and made the same discovery between their parted bodies, faint as it was in the dark: the first evidence of his puberty. Somehow in the night his penis had become like a small animal trying to escape his shorts, sticking out intently and (he saw now) oozing something wet.

"I-I'm sorry."

But she just warmly smiled. "Don't be sorry. It just means you're growing up."

For a few moments more, they both looked down at it awkwardly. What should he do with it? Wasn't it rude to be like this in her bed, even if she took it well? But before he could excuse himself and scurry away to his own room, she reached down between them -- brushed the backs of her fingers against his standing wood with an angel's touch.

A silky, warm pleasure lashed out in his veins, and he could barely even move or think.

Before that night, he'd never really fathomed that a feeling so ethereal could exist. All he had was a vague awareness of "sex" itself as a concept that created babies, and of course he'd never concerned himself with that before.

When he didn't say anything, she took her hand away, wearing a sad, self-reproachful look. "Do you hate it?"

"No!" He had only been basking in what was strange, and new, and also good. With the kind of insistent roughness he hadn't used with her since he was five and learned better, he grabbed her hand; caught himself, and guided it back down gently.

Then they snuggled in a new way; he trusted her, followed her every direction until he started to lose track of himself, and made a mess. Her reaction as she wiped it away kept him from being embarrassed all over again. He could tell from the smile in her quiet laughter that she found it cute.

"We can do this every night if you want to," she promised as they fell back asleep.

"Sure!"

"Then, let's pretend as if we're husband and wife."

"Pretend" as if they were married? He was getting to be a big boy and didn't see much use in pretending.

"I want to be your husband for real."

Her smile seemed to tint a little melancholy as her eyes closed. "Oh, Shuji."

Even then, he still didn't know it would be impossible.

* * *

Before his sister told him not to tell anyone, he told Yosuke, unable to contain his elation.

"We're dating now."

"Uh-huh."

"No, really."

Even Yosuke didn't tell him, despite that answer proving he too was in on the whole damn open secret. But Miwa couldn't even be angry at Yosuke, because _she_ had danced around it too.

Yosuke had also been the only one who could give him what he'd needed when he needed it most: he sat on the edge of her bed while his childhood friend mourned his beloved, quietly, for hours. To this day he was the only person on Earth who had any real clue what Shuji lost.

The tragedy happened like this.

Nothing seemed like it could drive Izanami and Izanagi apart, unlike the old myth he quickly took smug satisfaction in. ("Can't marry my sister", huh? Yet the legend goes that the world itself was created by just such a pair. How do you reconcile that?!) They could spend as much time as they pleased together, knowing they were really out on dates. They always found ways to snuggle when no one would be the wiser.

And then, after a year and a quarter of near-marital bliss:

Hell and bedlam. Death, unstoppable, in the streets: Stomping through buildings as if through straw, flowing red into the gutters never to be stayed. Laying like mannequins tossed every which way.

There was no going to the underworld to even try at bringing her back.

There was only rain, and her blood in the street, and Border materializing with impeccably-late timing; there was this useless older guy: sees the future, apparently, but can't rescue anyone's sister.

He'd wanted to be with her always, but the typhoon formed of Neighbors had failed to claim him too.

Then he couldn't finish their job for them. Wouldn't. Had no desire. What would be the point of surviving hell itself, only to throw that away?

There must be a purpose to his life - that, or he knew he must make one. Must become the kind of person who could have stopped the flow of death - by turning it on those _things_ that would bring it. To get revenge for her.

Living for her - even in this distant way - was still the only way he could accomplish living, day in, day out.

* * *

In the rest of life, he was now nearly a zombie. There were some, like Yosuke and Azuma, plus others he didn't care to admit to, who kept him animated in the world of the living... but some of him had decayed beyond retrieval - much like _her_.

To remind him of this, letters from admirers tend to show up in his locker at school. A few of the authors even boldly secure places next to him at lunch, hoping to lean their way into his heart and mind. Of course more than a handful were attracted to him. A contingent of teenage girls seemed to like guys who can easily bare teeth, and being an A-Rank in Border must make him more interesting.

Carefully, once, Yosuke had said "I don't think your sister would want you to be alone forever", and truthfully Shuji had already thought about that; surely she would want him to find contentment, not to live purely for hatred. But with all these opportunistic girls, it didn't matter either way. There was something wolfish in their advances on him; nothing like his sister's caressing tenderness. None of those girls could ever begin to replace her, ever gift him that same feeling of love and contentment and security. Why bother?

Now that he was older, and knew more about the world, he knew why she'd warned him not to insist on the truth: they'd have had her arrested, charged with a crime. It's called "incest", it's a form of sex abuse. He recoiled at the idea that their bond could be characterized as abuse.

 _No, she loved me._ It wasn't always about sex. They still hugged for the mere sake of closeness and warmth; they'd spent time together feeding ducks and doing the same things any other couple would do. The lovemaking didn't even start until _he'd_ poked her with his wayward dick. Wouldn't it all have started sooner if she'd just wanted to use him? Why wait, if her love had been that base and salacious?

Would she have shoved him away from the Neighbor's approaching mouth if she didn't really care about him?

Yet somehow telling the truth to get these would-be brides off his back would tarnish her reputation posthumously. He had to learn to lie smoothly instead, something not typically in his nature. 

* * *

He would have nothing to do with the world of sexuality most teens his age usually lived in at all, if his body didn't turn it into a need. One that, if ignored for too long, would foul his sheets without his help.

Out of necessity he would always lock his door. It could look anti-social; he didn't care. Having to deal with this at all was bad enough without interruptions.

As often happened, the first several minutes were wasted in the near-dark by looking down at himself with disgust.

 _I should just have this removed._ Cut it right off by himself, burn the wound shut, and be free of these pointless demands from his body. He didn't need his family jewels, he didn't want to "fulfill" an "obligation" to have children in a loveless marriage. Like the cute, happy, smiling boy he once was, his heart had died with his sister.

But ruminating on all these facts did not get the chore done, he knew. He had to breathe first; clear the thoughts. Stark reality would only bring him deeper into his invariable sadness. He had to let the world drop away and put himself back in that old frame of mind.

When she used to pull him into her lap in the bath and pet him everywhere.

He had to call her to mind in every detail, her smile, warmth, scent; the joy he used to feel, the love that's still there, even beyond the grave; the charming words she used to say.

_"You're so precious, Shuji, my cute little man"_

And then it was quickly over. A blessing, that.

He only had time enough to wipe and throw away the mess before the exhaustion of clearing his pipes blanked out the world.


End file.
